It is April Fool’s Day. I go into the hospital for a scheduled cesarean for my third child. Thanks to both a blood test and an ultrasound, we know we’re having a boy. The surgery starts, and it doesn’t go as expected.
Doctor: “Oh, wow, look at that!”
Surgical Tech: “Oh, my gosh.”
Me: “What?”
Doctor: “Okay, it’s a girl.”
Me & Husband: “What?”
Husband: “Did you say, ‘girl’?”
I just started laughing. And that’s how our daughter entered the world — by conning us into thinking she was going to be a boy, and revealing her true nature on April Fools Day. Well played, baby. Well played.
Our home computer is in the kitchen/dining room area. My mom is at the computer and I am in the kitchen. I’m puttering around when I feel the need to blow my nose, so I tear off a paper towel and blow.
Nothing comes out. No snot, boogers, or mucous-like substances. Just hot air. So, now, I’m standing there with a perfectly good paper towel, wondering what to do with it, when I spot a water spill on the counter. Happy that the paper towel shall not go unused, I quickly wipe up the spill with the non-nosed side of the towel and turn to toss it.
That’s when I see my mother looking at me as though she is replaying my entire childhood in her head and wondering where exactly we went wrong with my upbringing. I explain that I’d actually failed to blow my nose, and we share a laugh, but I don’t know if she actually believed me or just thought I was covering for myself.
Brother: “How do you spell ‘gonna’?”
Mom: “G-O-I-N-G T-O.”
Brother: “I didn’t ask how to spell ‘going to.’ I asked how to spell ‘gonna’!”
(We’re out to dinner at a rather nice steakhouse; our group consists of my husband, me, our two children — our six-year-old daughter and eight-year-old son — and our friend. Our daughter is colouring on the paper provided when she scratches at the edge of her nostril.)
Husband: *jokingly, once she’s finished* “Does it feel nice to pick your nose?”
Daughter: “I didn’t pick my nose; I scratched it!” *shows him how she scratched her nose*
Husband: “Again, did it feel nice to pick your nose?”
Daughter: *raising her voice* “I. Didn’t. Pick. My. Nose!”
Server: *approaching as our daughter yells the last bit* “I… can come back… later?”
Me: “No, please ignore them. This is quite normal.” *to my husband* “Knock it off, or I’ll call you a [ride-share] to take you home.”
(My daughter gave my husband a smug smile and turned to the server to order, smiling the entire time much like the cat that ate the canary. After all, her daddy got scolded, but she didn’t! Poor server is definitely getting a huge tip tonight.)
I don’t remember this myself, but Mom used to tell me about it. It happened when my younger brother was a toddler, about thirty years ago.
For some reason, he was crying and Mom tried to comfort him by offering a biscuit but he refused to take it. Meanwhile, my older brother and I tried to sing lullabies to help. It didn’t work.
I can only imagine all the noise that must have caused, and it alarmed — and possibly annoyed — our fifth family member, our cat. She was like an extra mom to my younger brother and me. For example, she would carefully lie down above my head when Mom went out with me in a baby stroller, as if to keep me warm and safe.
Without Mom noticing it, the cat came into the room, jumped up in the crib, and carefully took a small bite of the biscuit. For some reason, that made my brother stop crying, as he then snatched it away, almost like “That’s mine!” In that moment, the cat calmly left the room, her mission completed.
